Gay Pirates
by Petroica traversi
Summary: Being taken prisoner aboard a pirate ship isn't anything like Stan imagined it would be. He didn't expect to be treated so nicely, and he certainly didn't expect to be handed his own servant. A story of love, betrayal, and adventure (or something like it) on the high seas. Style/Gregstophe. Written for SPBB 2013.
1. Chapter 1

I was given a slave as soon as I boarded the _Sloop John B_. I wasn't sure why. The Captain, who'd introduced himself as Cartman had been suspiciously nice to me ever since I'd come on board.

It made no sense. I knew the pirates were under the impression that I was the Captain of _La Gazza Ladra_, but as far as I knew when pirates wanted information they usually just tortured the person whose knowledge they wanted. Being taken aboard, handed a servant, and shown to a rather nice (for a small pirate ship) cabin certainly wasn't what I expected to happen. I knew I'd probably be killed eventually, but I figured I'd at least get to live in relative luxury until that time came. It was better than the fate of the men of _La Gazza Ladra._ The ship had been blown out of the water as soon as I had boarded the _Sloop John B._ taking her crew down into the murky water with her. I thought I should feel bad about that, but I didn't, really. I'd hated every single person aboard the galleon.

The truth was that I wasn't the Captain at all. I was merely the carpenter. When the _Sloop John B._ drew near to the ship and raised her colors, the Captain of _La Gaza Ladra_ forced me to switch clothes with him to protect himself. He figured that if the Captain was what they were after, they'd take me aboard and do whatever awful things they planned to do, and he'd stay safe aboard his ship. Guess things don't always work out the way we want them to.

Though _La Gaza Ladra _was a merchant vessel, the men aboard the ship had behaved in the most vile, hedonistic manner that I had ever seen, drinking constantly, gambling, and spending all their time ashore with what my mother had always called "painted ladies." I kept my opinions to myself, but once they caught on that I wasn't going to join them in their activities, they never stopped giving me hell for it.

The men had teased me mercilessly for being what they called a fey, church-going pansy, and though I tried not to let it get to me, it hadn't exactly been pleasant. I was good at my job, and mostly I just wanted to be left alone, but that's not really easy with a lot of world-weary seamen. So, ok, maybe I did feel a little bad watching my former crew mates drown in the waves, but shit happens, I guess. I hoped maybe pirates would be an improvement. Which sounds stupid I guess, but what the hell did I know.

I laid back on my new bunk, pleased with the circumstances in which I'd accidentally ended up. The room was tiny and dim, but there was enough room for a narrow bed, and a small chest for my belongings, if I had any. I didn't. It wasn't exactly the most luxurious accommodations in the world, but considering the fact that on my last ship I slept on a hammock in a room with 30 other men who spent most of their nights snoring and farting, this was like Heaven to me.

The servant, however, was a bit of a problem. Despite having lived in Florida for a good part of my life where we had slaves to do most of the manual labor, I was absolutely appalled at the entire concept of slavery. Even though most of the people in my community relied upon it to earn their money, I'd felt it was unfair, even when I was a child. People are people are people. I didn't see much of a difference. But there wasn't exactly much I could do about it, you know?

It was after I'd watched a friend of mine torture a slave to death for trying to run away that I realized I'd had enough. He told me he was making an example so his other slaves would learn their lesson. Well, I learned my lesson, too. I didn't want anything else to do with the friends and family members that I'd watched treat other people like livestock. I went to the ship yard the next day, joined the crew of a merchant ship, and never looked back.

So here I found myself at a loss as to what to do with the young man loitering in the corner of the cabin. He was frightfully thin, and had the wildest red hair I had ever seen. He was also wearing nothing but a pair of tattered canvas shorts: no shirt or shoes. His exposed skin was sunburnt and bruised, and he looked exhausted and dejected. I felt very sorry for him, but I was also confused by him: I'd never seen a white slave before, and I wondered what his story was.

"What's your name?" I asked him, feeling uncomfortable as the man's defiant glare shifted toward me.

"It's Kyle," he said softly, casting his eyes downward again.

"I'm Stan," I supplied. He didn't answer me. He didn't even _look_ at me.

"How did you end up as a slave?" I asked, trying to get his attention.

I watched as Kyle shifted, clearly deciding if he should answer the question honestly or not.

"I was the navigator on this ship before. We were privateers. Then Cartman stupidly decided we ought to be pirates, and held a mutiny. He's always hated me, so he made me his personal slave."

"Couldn't you have fought back?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You say that as if it's so easy. I wouldn't be able to fight off a whole crew of men who've resented me for years. And if I could, where would I go? We're on a ship in the middle of the ocean."

"Huh," I said, "Well, I promise I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

He rolled his eyes again at that. Funny how someone who was supposed to be my servant was so good at making me feel stupid. "You do realize that's sort of the whole point of slavery, right? People doing what you want, whether or not they want to."

"I'm trying to be nice," I said, rolling over onto my side so I was facing the wall, "If you're going to be that way then go get me some dinner."

I heard Kyle sigh, but he did as he was told.

That first evening was painfully uncomfortable for me, and I assumed Kyle must have felt much the same. Though I had offered to share the bed with him, it wasn't large enough to do so without the two of us laying either back to back, or spooned together. It was the most practical option, but it did seem a bit… intimate. I left it up to him to decide where he wanted to sleep, and he chose the floor, where he slept propped up uncomfortably against the wall. I felt bad as I drifted off to sleep, but I remembered the look on Kyle's face as I suggested the share the bed: he was like a cornered animal, afraid that he would be hurt. I decided not to press the issue.

The room was empty when I awoke the next morning, but Kyle returned shortly, bearing a plate of food. He looked miserable.

"Captain Cartman wants to make sure you're well fed," he said as he set the plate down next to where I was laying.

"And what about you?" I asked, reaching over to poke at Kyle's very prominent ribs. There was a large bruise there that I didn't remember from before.

"I get enough," Kyle said, flinching away.

I knew better. I'd seen the signs of starvation on people before, and though Kyle was too proud to say anything, I could see by the look in his eyes that he was more affected than he let on. Though I was hungry I ate only half my breakfast before passing the rest over to Kyle. His hunger betrayed him, and he was unabashedly scarfing down the leftovers within moments.

"So why were you 'given' to me?" I asked, watching as my companion ate with no inhibitions. Kyle didn't respond until the plate was completely clean.

"Um. A welcome gift? To attend to, ah, your various needs."

"Why, though? I mean, I would assume the Captain of an enemy ship wouldn't be taken onto a pirate ship and treated like a King, normally."

"That's just how the Captain wants to do it. You catch more flies with honey, and all that. He wants to know where the rest of your fleet is, so he can loot it."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. And I don't know what will happen if you tell him. I don't know what will happen if you _don't_ tell him, either. Probably nothing good, either way."

"So I'm being treated like this because he hopes he can get on my good side, and I'll just tell him what he wants to know?"

"Yes."

"And if I don't..."

"Captain Cartman isn't exactly known for his patience. It will only be a matter of time before he gives up on the nice routine and has you tortured. Or killed, depending on his mood."

"Well," I said, "I suppose until then I ought to just enjoy myself, huh?"

Kyle stared up at me in surprise. I don't know what he expected from me, though. Was I supposed to cry and go into hysterics? That wasn't really my style.

"I mean, he's going to kill me either way, isn't he?"

"Probably," Kyle said, looking only a little bothered by that fact.

"Well, I guess I should appreciate it while it lasts," I said, standing and putting my coat on, "Because there's no way in Hell I'm telling that fat bastard anything he wants to know."

We spent the day up on the deck, chatting and watching the rolling sea pass below the hull of the ship. I'd asked the Quartermaster if I could be of help in any way, and he'd only scowled at me and told me to stay out of the way. So I figured I was off the hook, and did as I pleased. So loitering it was.

Kyle seemed to enjoy being in the sun, once I had managed to procure a shirt for him to protect his fair skin. It was far too large on him, but the dark-haired boy I'd gotten it from said it was the only one he could find. It sufficed, anyway, even though it went almost to his knees.

Nearly every deck hand at work threw vulgar remarks and questions at me as they passed by, insinuating that Kyle's main role as my servant was to take care of my sexual needs. Maybe that had been the Captain's intention, but the thought hadn't even occurred to me. Well, not really. Those were the kind of thoughts that I'd successfully pushed to the back of my head for most of my life, though I suppose they still rattled around my subconscious from time to time. But I certainly wasn't going to force myself on another person, even if that person was supposed to be my "property".

If Kyle was bothered by the lewd remarks thrown his way, he didn't let it show, but I was mortified. I wondered if the crew had done those sorts of things to Kyle before, and if that was the reason Kyle didn't want to share the bed with me. It was understandable to say the least.

But despite the nastiness of the crew, I enjoyed the opportunity to get to know the young man better. I figured if I was going to be spending most of my time with him then it would be better if we weren't strangers to each other. Kyle seemed wary at first, but receiving positive attention was clearly something he was not used to, and as the day went on he became more comfortable and revealed more and more of his past.

He was from New York, and came from a relatively wealthy Jewish family. At age 17 he sought out a life of adventure on the seas, despite his parents' objections.

"I had to sneak out in the middle of the night," he said, "but it was worth it. At least, initially. The Captain of the first ship upon which I served took a liking to me, and he trained me to be his navigator. I'd been performing that task on various ships until this whole mess happened. I enjoyed it... I tend to be very meticulous, and I enjoy the kind of precision that navigating requires. The man Cartman chose to replace me gets us lost on a regular basis. It's appalling."

"What's he like?" I asked.

"Oh, he's this weird little guy who has always been pretty benign until Cartman gets him all riled up. He's a pretty good lackey, I guess. Easily influenced, and all that. That's him over there with that map. He's named Butters," he said, pointing.

I followed his line of vision to see a small man with very fluffy blonde hair. He was rubbing his fists together nervously as Captain Cartman berated him for something. I quickly turned back, uninterested in him. Kyle was much more interesting.

"Hmm. And your family?" I asked, "Do you ever see them?"

"I went to visit one time when my ship was docked in New York, but it was too difficult to bear. My mother fussed over my clothing to no end, and my father gave me grief for throwing away any potential career options I might have. My brother, on the other hand, was jealous of my new life, and he followed me onto my ship as a stowaway. Luckily the Captain on that ship was a kind man, and he simply put him to work instead of throwing him overboard as some men might do. I haven't been back to see my parents since that day, because I know they'd never forgive me for leading my brother astray."

"And where is your brother now?"

Kyle simply shrugged and looked down at his dirty feet. He'd been open and animated until I asked that question, and suddenly it was like a wall had gone up between us.

I could tell he was hiding something, but I supposed we'd made enough progress for one day, anyway. I could tell by the way Kyle reacted and by the funny looks the rest of the crew was giving us that no one had bothered to get to know him in a very long time. He was obviously starved for attention: or at least the kind of attention I was giving him. It was clear that the rest of the crew had given him plenty of attention in the past, but only the kind that no one would ever want. His bruises spoke more about the situation than Kyle himself would ever say.

In the evening we were summoned to the Captain's quarters, where what passed for a feast on a pirate ship was laid out upon the table. Cartman entered the room, and gestured for me to take one of only two seats available at the table.

"What about Kyle?" I asked, settling into my chair.

"Your _slave_ can eat below deck with the livestock when we're finished. In the meantime he can serve us the wine."

"I'm not really comfortable with that... I'd rather have him sit with us."

"Don't push your luck, Marsh," Cartman said, narrowing his eyes, "I can always take Kyle back, and if I do, sharing his dinner with a pig will be the least of his worries."

Not wanting any harm to befall my companion, I decided not to argue. I endured an awkward dinner with Cartman, with Kyle standing glumly to the side. Now that I knew what Cartman was after, I had a pretty easy time parsing through his awkward questions. I lied through my teeth with every question I was asked, and by the end I couldn't remember half the wrong answers I had given. By the end of dinner I'm pretty sure I could have claimed to be the spirit of a white whale seeking my revenge against my murderers and he wouldn't have known the difference. I've never seen a man drink so much in one sitting, and his words were so slurred that I could barely understand him. He certainly didn't notice when I started wrapping bits of food in a napkin and stuffing it into my coat pocket to give to Kyle later on.

When the Captain began to doze off in his chair, I stood and smiled at Kyle, who'd been watching the whole meal sullenly from the corner of the room. I grabbed the last bottle of wine from the table and pulled Kyle by the arm out into the hall and back into our room. I'm not sure what he thought I'd do when we got back there, but he stood apprehensively by the bed as I shut the door.

When I pulled the food I'd stolen for Kyle out of my pockets and handed it to him, I was met with a look of suspicion rather than the gratitude I'd expected. It didn't stop Kyle from sitting on the bed and eating what he'd been given, but he stared at me with a look of appraisal the entire time.

"What is it?" I asked when Kyle wiped his face with the napkin, looking at least somewhat satiated.

"Cartman's going to be angry that you took that wine."

"Oh. Well he was so drunk, I'll bet he won't even notice it's gone."

"Hmmm," was Kyle's only response.

"I figured, you know, you might want some, since it was obvious he wasn't about to share with you."

I felt nervous as Kyle stared at me with cold, hard eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Why are you being nice to me? What do you think you could possibly gain from it?"

"I'm not trying to gain anything!" I said, feeling wounded, "I just thought... well, I can tell no one else has been nice to you, and that... I mean... I can't..."

"I don't need your pity," Kyle answered, looking angrier than ever.

"I'm not trying to pity you!"

"Then what is it, coercion? If you want me to do something then you can just force me to do it the way everyone else does. You don't have to pretend to be a good guy."

"I'm not pretending!" I said, embarrassed by the way my voice cracked, "I don't want anything from you, and I'm not trying to treat you like I'm better than you or... or whatever it is you think I'm trying to do. It's just, you know, ever since I came aboard the ship yesterday I've been horrified by the way people treat you, and I didn't want things to be that way for you. Why do you think it's such a bad thing that I want to treat you with compassion?! Just because everyone else had treated you with cruelty and derision, that doesn't mean that I will."

I felt embarrassed by how worked up I was getting, but it upset me to think that he'd seen my thoughtfulness as some sort of plot against him. What the hell had the men aboard the ship done to make him so suspicious?

Kyle was still staring at me, and though his expression had softened a little, there was still anger and bitterness written across his face. But there was no way he could miss how fast I was breathing, or the fact that my eyes were watering a little. Humiliating as my over-emotional reaction was, I hoped at least that Kyle would see that I was sincere.

Finally after a long moment Kyle shook his head and mumbled an apology, before climbing off the bed to sit in the corner in which he'd slept the previous night.

"Don't you want to have some of the wine?" I asked, confused.

"Maybe some other night," Kyle responded, hugging his legs to his chest. He looked up at me through his eyelashes for a moment, and then his eyes fluttered shut. Not knowing what else to do, I shut the lantern off and crawled into bed.

Throughout the following day I could feel Kyle's eyes upon me, but each time I'd turn to look at him he'd would look away quickly, casting his eyes downward. It was unnerving, and I guessed he was still trying to figure me out. It still kind of hurt my feelings, though. I wanted him to be able to trust me, especially since I had given him no reason not to. Still, I didn't want to force him to do anything he didn't want to, even if that thing was something as simple as explaining himself to me. Thankfully he decided to do that on his own.

It was after another strained dinner with Cartman, when we were back in our room that Kyle broached the subject.

"I'm sorry I've been so mistrustful," he said, setting aside the remnants of the food I had stolen for him for the second night in a row. "It's been a year since Cartman's mutiny, and ever since then the only time anyone's been kind to me is if they wanted to trick me into something. I've been the whipping boy upon this ship ever since, both figuratively and literally, and it's made me forget that sometimes people can actually be nice for no reason."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," I said smiling softly. I was surprised when Kyle smiled back.

"I realize that now. But, I just..." he trailed off, and stared into a dark corner of the room for a moment, and when he looked back at me he looked rather sad, "I told you before that I don't know what will happen to you. If you tell Cartman what he wants, he may kill you. And if you don't, he may kill you for that, too. You're the first person who's been nice to me in a long time, and I don't want to grow attached to someone who might... well..."

"Be brutally murdered?" I joked, hoping to make Kyle smile again.

He didn't. Instead he shook his head sadly, and stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry," Kyle said finally, "I don't mean to be morose. It's just that it's a reality I'm going to have to come to terms with, and I suggest you try and do the same."

I could tell Kyle was annoyed when I shook my head, brushing off his concerns, but I figured there was no use in worrying about something I couldn't control. As Kyle had pointed out before, we were on a ship in the middle of the ocean. What could I do?

I guess he figured the conversation was over, so he made to move to the floor for another uncomfortable night's sleep. I put a hand on his arm to stop him, and he looked back at me in confusion.

"You take the bed tonight. I'll sleep on the floor," I said.

"What? That's not... I'm your slave, remember? It wouldn't do for someone to find us with our roles reversed."

"No one comes in here but us, though. And I've seen how stiff your neck and shoulders are during the day. We can switch off, alright?"

I could see Kyle trying to find an argument against the idea, so I grasped his shoulders and gently pushed him back against the pillows. His eyes widened for a moment, and for a split second I thought about kissing him. I moved away quickly, settling myself upon the floor. It would be unwise to allow those impulses to run their courses.

"Thank you," Kyle said quietly, making himself comfortable under the blankets. I smiled, and settled in for a very long night.


	2. Chapter 2

As the days went on, I could sense Kyle's growing trust in me. It also became apparent that being around me protected him from being physically harassed by the rest of the crew, and he became more relaxed and cheerful as our friendship progressed.

Kyle's favorite pastime was standing at the bow of the ship, watching over the edge as the hull parted the waves before us, slicing through the clear blue water like a sharpened blade. On calmer days we'd often see dolphins swimming alongside the boat, jumping through the air as if they hadn't a care in the world.

"My dad used to say that he wished he was a dolphin," Kyle said one day.

"That might be the most bizarre thing anyone has ever said to me," I said, propped up against the railing at Kyle's feet. He shrugged.

"I guess I can see the appeal, maybe. They always seem like they're having such a good time, and when you're a lawyer who spends most of his time cooped up in an office in the city, such freedom must seem like a distant dream. Of course, I'm sure the life of a dolphin isn't as simple as we make it seem. It's probably not as fun as it looks."

"Kind of like your life, hm?"

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, turning his gaze from the sea below to me.

"You wanted that kind of life, didn't you? Life at sea sounded like fun and games to you, but it wasn't nearly as simple as that. You had your freedom for a while, and then things just sort of turned to shit. But you saw how much the life your parents planned out for you made your father suffer, and you left. Do you regret it?"

Kyle sat down next to me with a sigh. "I don't know. Sometimes."

"Do you think dolphins ever have shitty days?" I asked.

"Probably not. I'll bet it's actually every bit as fun as it looks. Do you think they look up at us on the ship and think, 'Man, I wish I had that life.'?" he asked, laughing.

"They're probably smarter than us, anyway. Seems like all they ever do is play and have a good time. And here we are, working our asses off," I said, grinning at him.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, before Kyle spoke again.

"What made you leave your home?" he asked.

"Have you ever been to Florida?" I asked.

"No. Well, except for stopping in a few port towns. But I've never spent more than a few hours there."

"Well, if you had you might not ask me that. But I suppose it was for the same reasons as you, at heart. I looked at my surroundings, and I didn't like what I saw. So I left. I wonder if that's a normal thing to do, or if people like us are just messed up."

"Oh, I don't know," Kyle said, absently scratching at a spot of dried pitch on his trousers, "I think it's pretty normal, but not everyone follows those impulses. Most people like to have safety and a routine, even if the idea of leaving all their problems behind them seems appealing. And then of course there's the fact that you can't really run from your problems. They follow you like an elephant on a leash."

We looked up as a shadow suddenly blocked our light. It was two of the deckhands, a surly-looking young man named Craig, and a man named Clyde, who always seemed to be following him around, saying little but providing backup when it was necessary. I had noticed them earlier, watching me and Kyle from the other side of the deck and muttering to each other, but I'd paid no attention to them.

"Having fun, Broflovski?" sneered Craig.

"I suppose I am."

"Well don't you forget your place, yeah? Or we'll have to keel-haul you again."

"Hey-" I said, trying to get to my feet. Craig placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down to the deck with surprising strength.

"As for you," he said, "the Captain might be kissing your ass, but the rest of us know better. You'll get what's coming to you soon enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" I shouted as the two men turned to leave, but they just ignored me. "Hey!"

"Case in point," Kyle said as I huffed next to him, "I was unpopular in New York, and often got bullied. Now I'm unpopular in the Caribbean, and I often get bullied. It's getting rather old."

"What did they mean, keel-haul you _again_?" I asked.

Kyle sighed. "They keel-hauled me shortly after the mutiny, because I wasn't obedient enough. See? I still have scars from the barnacles."

His shirt was large enough that he only had to shrug the shoulders back a little to reveal the odd geometric scars across his back. Tiny scratched lines crisscrossed pale pink gouges, and there seemed to be no end to them. It looked a bit like a map of some badly-planned city.

"Jesus," I said, appalled, "I don't know how I didn't notice them before."

"They don't show up as much when my skin is sunburnt. They're on the backs of my arms, too, but those are less noticeable."

"Oh. I guess it would be stupid to ask if it hurt."

"Yeah. Obviously it hurt. As if nearly drowning and being dragged across razor-sharp barnacles wasn't bad enough, there was a shark tailing us at the time. I was terrified that it was going to eat me, especially with all the blood in the water. It was getting pretty close when they pulled me back onto the ship."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, and they sat together in silence as the mainsail flapped above us. I felt sick to my stomach. I'd heard of people doing that, but I'd never witnessed it, nor had I ever met anyone who'd survived it. I wished I could do something to ease Kyle's suffering. There wasn't much I could do about the horrific events he'd lived through in his past, but I vowed to myself that I'd make whatever time we had together as pleasant as possible. I laid my hand upon his shoulder, and I was surprised when he leaned into me instead of jumping away. Maybe we were getting somewhere after all.

At the end of the fifth day, I had just about had it with our sleeping arrangements, and I was trying to think of a better solution that wouldn't offend Kyle too much. The nights I'd slept on the floor were excruciating, and when I had the bed I knew Kyle was suffering instead. I didn't think we could share the bed, considering how frightened Kyle had looked when I'd first suggested it, but apparently Kyle had come around on the whole idea. It was my turn to have the bed that evening, and as I tried to fall asleep I was kept up by the sounds of Kyle shifting around uncomfortably on the floor. Though the mattress was hard and lumpy it was still better than the floor. I was debating in my head if I should at least offer my blanket for Kyle to sleep on when I felt the mattress dip very slightly next to me. I opened one eye to see Kyle watching me nervously, biting his lip. We stared at each other in silence until Kyle finally worked up enough nerve worm his way under the blankets and lie down beside me, burying his face against my shoulder.

"Ok?" he whispered.  
"Yeah," I replied, though I wasn't entirely sure it was.

I'd been attracted to men before, but I refused to act upon my attraction since the Church said such things were a sin. I had to remind myself that there was nothing sexual about sharing a bed with someone out of necessity, but it was hard to keep that in mind as the small size of the bed forced me and Kyle to cuddle up together. He was so warm, and his breath came out in soft puffs against my cheek. Very distracting.

I was afraid to move, worried that I might disturb Kyle, or accidentally reveal the physical side-effects of laying so close to another man that I was experiencing. I managed to drift off to sleep eventually, comforted by the warmth of Kyle's body and the soft sloshing sounds of the waves against the hull of the ship.

I only hoped that I wouldn't find myself in a compromising situation in the morning.

The next few days were spent like the previous days, lounging around on the deck. It was kind of boring after a while because I like to keep busy, and the comments we got from the crew became more and more aggressive, but it wasn't as though we had anything else to do. I'd offered to work again, and again I'd been turned down, so it wasn't my fault that I had all this free time on my hands while everyone else on the ship worked away. Still, bored though I was, I was really enjoying the time I spent with Kyle. I think it made everyone mad to see how nice I was to him, but I liked him a lot. He was smart and funny, and I felt like we were meant to be together. The way we interacted was so different from any relationship I'd ever had with anyone else. I felt like I could be myself, without having to worry about being judged for it.

I could tell he was enjoying my company too. When anyone else interacted with us, his posture was stiff, and his face was closed off, but when we were alone together he was relaxed and smiled easily. I could tell he was still worried about what might happen to me, but in the meantime he seemed pretty happy.

I'd been on the ship for a little over a week when Cartman called me into his quarters at mid-day. Usually he left me alone for most of the day until supper time, so I was pretty nervous about what this little meeting might entail. I guess I was right to be, because once I got to his cabin he sat me down and gave me an ultimatum.

"Listen," he said, "I know you know where the rest of your fleet is. And I know you know that I want to know, too. And I know you know that I know you know exactly why."

I heard Kyle sigh in exasperation behind me.

"I'm sorry, what?" I said.

"Tell me where the rest of the fleet is!" Cartman yelled, his face turning red.

"No, I don't think so."

"Ok, listen. If you don't tell me, I'll have both you and your little friend tortured and killed. Ok?"

Kyle made a choked sound, clearly not pleased to be involved in the punishment. I wasn't really thrilled about it either.

"That isn't fair," I said, "He has nothing to do with this."

"You just seem to need a bit of incentive," Cartman said, "I'll give you tonight to think about it, and if you still feel the same way tomorrow, well, you can enjoy watching Kyle get eaten by sharks before taking your turn."

It wasn't quite dark outside when we left Cartman's cabin, and though neither of us had eaten dinner, we decided to go back to our room, apprehensive about what might become of us.

"Are you going to tell him?" Kyle asked once he made sure the door was completely closed and latched.

"Tell him what? About the fleet? I don't know a thing about it, actually."

Kyle raised his eyebrows.

"I find that hard to believe. Shouldn't the Captain of a ship in a fleet know where the rest of the fleet is?"

"Well that's the thing," I said, "I wasn't really the Captain of _La Gazza Ladra_. I was just the carpenter. When this ship approached, the real Captain made me switch clothes with him, in an attempt to save himself. Obviously that didn't work out for him."

"Wait, wait, wait. This whole week Cartman's been trying to con you into giving him information that you never had in the first place?"

"Guess so," I said with a shrug.

"So this whole time... you just went along with it, knowing full well that you'd be killed if you didn't come up with the information he wanted?"

"Well, yeah? What was I supposed to do? If I told him straightaway that I wasn't the Captain then he'd have killed me anyway. I figured I'd enjoy the time I had left, and... you know..."

"What?"

"I was hoping for a miracle, I guess. I guess if God wants me to survive, then He'll come through for me."

"You really believe in that kind of thing?" Kyle asked incredulously.

"Well yeah, don't you?"

"I've waited futilely for God's help too many times in my life to believe in anything anymore. If you want something to happen, you have to make it happen yourself."

"Well, what do you propose, then?" I asked, irritated and a little offended.

Kyle bit his lip and stared at the bed for a moment with a pensive look upon his face. I was waiting for some grand master plan that would fix all our troubles, but he just shook his head and shrugged.

"Do you still have that bottle of wine you stole?" he asked. I stared at him incredulously.

"That's your plan? Get drunk?"

Kyle shrugged. "What else can we do?"

I supposed he had a point.

We had no glasses, so we passed the bottle back and forth between us until it was empty. I never drank very much, and since I had hardly eaten all day the wine went to my head quickly. Kyle seemed to experiencing the same effect. Before long we ended up sprawled in a drunken heap on the bed with our legs entangled, and our arms wrapped around each other. I was too drunk to realize how compromising our position was.

"That was pretty shitty wine," I said, throwing the now empty bottle to the floor.

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, but it did the trick, huh?"

I hummed and closed my eyes, trying not to think about what might happen the next day.

"Do you regret it at all?" Kyle asked, seemingly reading my mind.  
"What, lying about being the Captain? Nah. All those other fuckers on the ship got drowned anyway, so it's not like I would have just gone along my merry way if I'd have been honest."

"Aren't you frightened, though? I am."

I had to think about it for a moment, but I was too drunk to really assess my feelings at the moment.

"I suppose I am, yeah. I think I will be tomorrow, anyway. Right now it doesn't seem like it's really going to happen, you know?"

"I guess," Kyle said with a sigh. He pushed himself up on his hands so that he was leaning over me, and pressed the fingers of one hand gently against my cheek. I watched him in bleary confusion. We'd been physically affectionate with each other for days, but there seemed to have been certain boundaries which he was now crossing.

"I suppose this will be our last night together, won't it?" he said quietly.

"Oh," I said, "Yeah, I guess so. Nice knowing you, and all that? Sorry I got you killed."

"In that case, I'd really like to thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Wait, what? Did you miss the whole 'sorry I got you killed' thing I just said?"

Kyle shrugged, "I don't think it's going to work out that way. I have a few ideas. But still. You've been kinder to me than anyone has been... probably ever. I want to show you my gratitude. Just in case."

I was about to ask what he meant when Kyle pressed his lips softly against mine. He was so warm and sweet, and as odd as it sounds, I really enjoyed the way his stubble caught against mine. But I came to my senses and pushed him back gently.

"Um," I said as Kyle pulled back.

"What?"

"Well, I just don't really... do that. I mean. I haven't before."

"Don't you want to?" Kyle asked, "I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one else will notice."

"I don't know what you mean," I said, feeling heat run across my cheeks.

Kyle leaned over me again, and stroked my cheeks gently with his thumbs. "Yes you do," he said.

"Isn't it a sin?" I asked nervously as Kyle moved to kiss me again. His hands seemed to be everywhere, and I was quickly losing my ability to think rationally.

"What isn't?" Kyle said, dipping his hand under the waist of my trousers.

_Well, that makes sense,_ I thought, and let Kyle do as he pleased.

And did he ever please.

I awoke the next morning to an empty bed, and I looked around in groggy confusion. Kyle was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he regretted what we'd done the night before. I certainly didn't. It had been eye-opening, to say the least.

I was kind of worried that God might strike me down for sinning, and then I remembered that I'd probably be killed that day anyway. Cartman would probably get to me before God did. I'd worry about the afterlife when I got there.

I pulled myself out of bed, and began to dress. I was pulling my shirt over my head when someone burst into the room. It was Cartman, and he looked livid. He forcibly dragged Kyle into the room behind him, grasping him tightly by the arm. When I looked to Kyle in confusion, he refused to meet my eyes.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you?"

"What's that?" I asked, still trying to make eye contact with Kyle.

"Lying to me and pretending you were the captain of your ship! How much food did I waste trying to coerce you to tell me what I wanted to know? How many hours of my slave's labor did I throw away, letting him sit on his ass for days trying to entertain you? You're in for it, now."

"Shit," was my only response.

"Yeah, shit. You see, Kyle was working for me all along. The moment you confessed your lies to him, he came running to me. How does that feel, hm? Just goes to show you that you can never trust a Jew."

I stared at Kyle in shock. I liked him so much, and I'd never once thought he was being insincere in his affections. The thought of being bedded by someone just as a mean of distraction or whatever it had been was nauseating to me. I stood there in a daze as two members of Cartman's crew pushed through the door behind him, looking menacing. I was too upset to really care.

"You're going to the bilge until I decide what to do with you," said Cartman, "There's no use in struggling."

I struggled anyway.

Half an hour and several bruised ribs later, I found myself in the dank, dark bowels of the ship. At the very back of the bilge was a small room, into which I was locked. I looked around to get my bearings, but there was very little to be seen. The only light came from the large grates in the deck, and very little of it filtered down to where I stood. I could make out shapes of barrels on the other side of the door, and heard the quiet shuffling of the livestock that was kept aboard the ship for food. I jumped as a rat ran over my foot, and then shook my head in exasperation. How had things come to this?

I desperately hoped this was all some kind of ploy on Kyle's part to get us out of our situation, but I wasn't sure how it could be. I didn't know which hurt more: the bruises I'd received in the fight, or Kyle's potential betrayal. I wanted to trust him, but I just couldn't see how any of this would result in anything other than my untimely death.

Feeling the need to vent my frustration, I started shouting curses at the men who'd locked me up, though they'd already returned to the deck. I hoped they could hear me through the grates, because I couldn't help but be impressed with the colorful array of insults my brain conjured up. I jumped in surprise when someone spoke behind me.

"Would you shut the hell up?" said a voice, somewhere in the darkness. The man, whoever he was, had a strong French accent. I hadn't seen anyone else when I'd been locked up, but of course I'd been putting up a fight against the crew members at the time, and it was too dim to see much of anything anyway.

"Who are you, then?" I asked, squinting into the darkness.

A rough-looking man stepped into the small patch of light where I stood. He was a bit taller than me, and though he was thin I could tell that given the right circumstances he would probably be pretty muscular. He looked strong, anyway. He was also white as a sheet, and the overall effect was frightening. I wondered for a moment if the man wasn't actually a ghost.

"I'm the Captain of this ship," said the man, eying me with disdain.

"Sure, ok," I said, trying to placate him. He was obvious a lunatic. Was that why he'd been locked in the bilge as well? Was I about to be killed by some crazy ghost man?

The man huffed in annoyance.

"That fat oaf held a mutiny. This is still my ship, even if he's stolen it from me."

"I'm not sure it works that way. But, wait, Kyle said the mutiny was like a year ago? You've been down here for that long?"

"Hm, has it been so long? I can't tell anymore."

"Why are you here, then? Why hasn't Cartman fed you to the sharks, or whatever it is he plans to do to me?"

A strange look passed over the man's face. I couldn't decide if he looked smug or resigned. Or maybe just insane. Spending a year locked below deck had probably divested the man of his sanity, I decided.

"Because he's a moron," the man said, "He thinks I know the location of great treasures, or some stupid bullshit like that. I'm not sure how many times I have to tell him that privateers aren't the same thing as pirates. There is no treasure, and as such there are no secret treasure maps, or whatever it is he thinks I'm hiding from him. He's a buffoon."

"Well, can't argue there," I conceded, "Who are you, anyway?"

"I told you, I'm the Captain."

"Yeah, ok Captain, but what's your name?"

"Captain Christophe Chevalier," he said, looking haughty. He seemed pretty impressed with himself, especially for a man who was covered in his own offal.

"Nice to meet you," I said, putting out my hand. Christophe ignored it. I was kind of glad, since his hands were disgustingly filthy.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Oh," I said, awkwardly dropping my hand, "Um, I'm Stan Marsh."

"And what are you doing here?"

"Ah, well it's kind of a long story, you see-"

"Ok, I don't actually care," Christophe said, cutting me off, "Well, Stan Marsh, stay on your own fucking side of the room and we won't have any problems," he said, and then retreated back to his corner.

Slightly affronted, I shuffled over to the opposite side of the room, and gingerly sat upon the filthy floor. I wondered how long I'd be down there until my punishment, whatever that might be, was doled out.

It was terribly boring being locked up. I wondered how Christophe had passed a whole year in that smelly little room. Maybe Cartman would forget about me and I'd turn into a filthy, insane ghost-man as well. It didn't seem too appealing, but maybe it was better than dying?

I was trying to find ways to occupy my time, but Christophe completely ignored me, and it was too dark to do much of anything. I wasn't aware that I'd drifted off until I heard someone descending on the stairs outside our cell. I heard quiet footsteps approach the door, and then someone's head blocked the light from outside.

"Stan?" Kyle said softly from the window.

I stood and approached the door, wondering if I was walking into yet another trap.

"I'm surprised to see you down here," I said, irritated. My mood softened a little when I spotted new bruises across Kyle's face. Obviously the crew had already made up for his week of downtime.

"I, um... yeah. I'm sorry, Stan, really," he said, reaching a hand through the bars to touch my face. I moved out of his reach.

"You lied to me, Kyle. I can't believe- For a minute there I thought you cared about me."

"I do, Stan, I just had to do what I could to survive. Surely you can understand that?"

"I can, I suppose, but that doesn't make it any less hurtful. I trusted you and you threw me under the …carriage."

"Do I really have to put up with this sentimental bullshit?" grumbled Christophe from his pitch black corner.

"Is that you, Christophe?" Kyle asked. His surprise sounded forced.

"Who did you think it was, Jesus Christ himself?"

"Might as well be. Cartman told us he killed you, and here you are, risen from the dead. It's the miracle we've all be waiting for," Kyle said, his voice completely flat.

"Hah, well if I am your savior then you must be having some kind of major crisis of faith."

"I'm Jewish, remember? We don't have a savior. You're just some guy, you know?"

"Yes, I can tell by how nonplussed you seem to be to see me alive. Where's our stupid emotional reunion, huh? I thought we were friends," he simpered.

Kyle snorted, unimpressed.

"You're messing up my apology," he said.

Christophe's response was in French, and though I couldn't understand it, it didn't sound very nice.

"I am sorry, though," Kyle said, turning his attention back to me, "I'm going to try and get you out of here."

"You think you can get me a pardon, or whatever?" I asked, surprised.

"Nope, I'm just going to bust you out," Kyle said, fiddling with the lock.

"To what end, Kyle? We're on a freaking boat. There's nowhere to go."

"Nonsense. I'm sure we'll be able to get away somehow. We're near a small island chain close to Cuba," he said, craning his neck oddly as though he was speaking to Christophe as well, "We can have a counter-mutiny or something. I don't know." He fiddled with the locks some more, ineffectually, it seemed. He was making an awful lot of noise: more than seemed necessary and I heard Christophe chuckling behind me. I began to wonder what I was missing.

"Aha!" came Cartman's voice from the top of the stairs, "I knew it!"

"Oh noooo," Kyle cried out, very melodramatically, "We've been caught!"

I would have laughed at Kyle's terrible acting if I had any idea where this was going. Something was definitely off, but I couldn't call Kyle out on it without messing up whatever he was trying to accomplish.

"Yes!" shouted Cartman triumphantly, "I knew you would sneak down here to rescue your butt-buddy! Craig, grab Kyle. Clyde, unlock the door and bring Stan to the deck. We're going to teach these two a lesson they won't forget for the rest of their lives. ...Get it? The rest of your lives. Cause I'm about to kill you."

"Yeah, we get it. Very subtle," Kyle said, futilely struggling against Craig's iron grip as Clyde unlocked the door to the brig and reached for my arm.

"Wait a minute," I said, fending him off, "What are you going to do?"

"Throw you overboard, asshole," said Cartman, "What do you think? After all the trouble you've caused you're lucky that's all I'm going to do. I just want you off my ship."

"_My_ ship," Chirstophe muttered from his dark corner.

"Wait, wait!" I shouted, as Clyde moved in to grab him, assisted by some of the other crew members who'd been drawn downstairs by all the noise. I couldn't evade all of them, and before I knew it my hands were bound and I was being hauled to the deck, with Kyle being dragged behind me.

From the sound of Cartman's bellowing below deck, it sounded as if Christophe had tried to make a run for it behind us, but I had much bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that the whole crew had gathered upon the deck, jeering as Kyle and I were dragged toward the railing. I was being pushed around from all sides, and barely maintained my footing as one dark-haired young man lunged at my legs and tried to push me over.

The crowd thinned as we were pushed further to the edge of the ship, to one of the gaps in the rails.

"What, no walking the plank?" I asked, half-joking.

"Real pirates don't do that! It's just a cliché!" shouted Kyle over Craig's shoulder.

Oh, Kyle. Always so factual to the very end.

I yelped as I was unceremoniously shoved off the deck and into the sea. There were worse things that could happen to a person than drowning, I supposed, like maybe being burned to death, or like… hanging? Hanging seems worse. Yeah. Anyway.

The water was warmer than I'd expected, and much clearer. It hurt to open my eyes in the salt water, but I did anyway as I heard Kyle splash in next to me. I was surprised when he swam immediately over to me and reached for my left foot.

For a split second I thought of all the stories I'd heard about mermaids dragging sailors down into the depths of the sea, and I wondered if maybe Kyle wasn't some sort of shape-shifting merman. Maybe that's what Cartman had meant when he called him a daywalker? Perhaps he was a merman at night, but a human by day. But wait, I'd been with him at night, and he'd never had a tail.

My oxygen-deprived train of thought was derailed when Kyle reached into my boot and pulled out a knife. Where the hell had that come from?


	3. Chapter 3

Kyle was laughing as we trudged through the waves onto the beach, where we collapsed onto the pure white sand. He seemed pleased, but I was coughing up sea water. Gross.

"I can't believe that worked!"

"I'm still not sure what 'that' was," I said, glaring at Kyle. It was hard to stay mad at a guy whose hair had been turned into a ridiculously frizzy halo by sea water, but I managed somehow.

"You're mad at me? I just saved your life!"

"Well, you know, aside from being thrown into the brig with a madman, and then being tossed into shark-infested waters where you almost drown until someone cuts you loose at the very last second, and then spending several hours floating on a plank that fell into the ocean by chance, and nearly falling off said plank from exhaustion, yeah, it was a great plan."

Kyle stared at me incredulously.

"It _was_ a great plan, actually. You're alive, aren't you? Also? There were no sharks."

"I felt one brush my leg!"

"You were imaging that, then. If a shark had brushed your leg then it probably would have bit it too, eventually. There were no sharks."

"Well there could have been!" I shouted. I knew I was being a bit of a baby, but I was scared and confused.

"Look, listen… everything that just happened was a part of my plan. Except your imaginary sharks. I mean, there could have been some, but we got lucky on that part. It was a calculated risk. I also took a risk that the crew would be too distracted by the next part of my plan to shoot at us. And hey, that worked out, too. So you going to the brig, me attempting to rescue you only to be caught, my brother slipping a knife into your boot-"

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, the little guy with dark hair who grabbed at your legs? He's the one who put the knife in your boot so I could cut us loose when we hit the water. That was planned too. He also threw that plank in the sea while no one was looking so we'd have something to hang on to as we made our getaway. That wasn't chance, that was my doing. And I had it carefully calculated so that we'd be thrown off near these islands, close enough that we could get to them safely. Are you seeing a pattern here?"

"I don't believe you. I mean. Maybe I believe you. I don't know. Why the hell did you rat on me to Cartman?"

"I told him I'd keep an eye on you," mumbled Kyle, looking slightly embarrassed.

"So you weren't really his slave, or whatever?"

"Oh, no I was! It's just that he said he'd kill my brother if I didn't cooperate. So, you know, I didn't want that to happen."

"What about… um, last night? Was that part of the plan, too? Or was that just a ruse to distract me?"

"Has it occurred to you that I might actually like you, Stan?"

I ran my hands through the sand and thought about what Kyle had said for a moment. He seemed sincere, and it wasn't like there was any reason for him to trick me again. He was as stuck as I was, and there was nothing that I had that he could possibly want. Funny how he had been the mistrustful one in the beginning, and now I was the one having a hard time believing him.

"So… ok… Why would you put yourself at risk, then? I mean, you didn't have to get thrown overboard, too, even if you do like me."

"Would you have wanted to stay on that ship?" Kyle asked.

"Under your circumstances? I guess not. But what about your brother?"

"Don't worry about him," Kyle said, smirking, "He's working on the second part of the plan as we speak."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Don't worry about it."

I sighed angrily, but decided not to press the issue. Especially not when Kyle was pressing me down to the sand, and running his hands across my chest. He looked apologetic. I wanted to stay angry at him, but that seemed counterproductive since what I really wanted was for him to keep touching me the way he was.

"So, you know… We're on a deserted island and all… I suppose we'll have to make our own entertainment," he said.

I heard a rumble of thunder from a distant storm, and silently told God to shut up. I was tired of doing the right thing.

We watched the sun set over the ocean, and the next day we watched it rise again from the other side of the island. We spent a good part of the day exploring. The island was probably a few miles around: small enough to navigate in one day, and the center of it was covered by a thick jungle that would probably yield plenty of resources if we had to spend a decent length of time on the island. There was a small pool of fresh water toward the middle of the island, and though the water was somewhat stagnant and a bit brackish, it was still potable. The clouds of mosquitoes that surrounded it were less welcoming, however. There were plenty of coconut palms which could supply food and something to drink (though I hated coconut milk with a passion), and we'd heard plenty of animals rustling in the bushes. I wasn't much of a hunter so catching them might be a challenge, but at least they were there if we were in dire straits.

I was enjoying myself more and more as the afternoon went on, but Kyle was beginning to look a bit wilted, so I decided we should take a rest by the shore.

"I could get used to this," I said, "I always did enjoy nature."

"Ugh, not me," said Kyle, "Despite the fact that I left my home to avoid the inevitable office job, sometimes wonder if I'm not missing something. The ability to bathe in fresh water, for example. I definitely miss that. And eating at fine restaurants, and dressing in a nicely tailored suit, and not having to worry about sunburns. I miss those things."

"So if we ever get off this island, is that what you're going to do? Go back to New York or wherever and settle down?"

"First off, it's not _if_ we get off this island, but _when. _I told you, there's a plan. And no. I probably won't go back to New York. I don't want the life my parents set up for me. I don't know what I'll do, actually, but if I ever have to board a ship with the likes of Cartman again, well, those imaginary sharks will look pretty promising."

"Well, assuming we survive this, I guess you should just think of something you like, and try to make a career out of that? I mean, assuming your adventuring days are over."

"Well," said Kyle, "Who says my adventuring days are over? And why should having a more respectable career mean settling down? What would you do, in my situation?"

"I'm not in your situation, though," I replied, lying back against the sand.

"Well, you kind of are, at least at the moment," Kyle said, sprawling down next to me.

"I guess so. But I don't want to stop what I'm doing. Not really. I still want to travel, and see more of the world. If I had stayed at home I'd be running an orange farm or something by now, and that's just boring. We could… I don't know… we could try and find something to do together, you know."

"Hmmm," Kyle said, closing his eyes.

We laid in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun against our skin and the sound of the waves rolling in. I wondered what Kyle was thinking.

"Well, so what do we do now?" I asked.

"I suppose we should build some kind of shelter, and figure out a way to get food," Kyle said, "At least until our rescue comes."

"If it comes. How long do you think that will be? You haven't exactly been forthcoming on this whole plan of yours."

"Honestly, I have no idea. There's a whole chain of events that need to take place for us to get out of here. If anything goes wrong, well, we might be here a while."

I sighed and got to my feet. "Well, in that case I'll go see what I can round up."

The only tool I had was the knife that Kyle had carried with him, but it was good enough to cut down some palm branches and vines with which to tie them together. The shelter I built with them wasn't the sturdiest residence I'd ever had, but it was good enough for the night, at least. I could improve it in the morning, if I needed to. I managed to start a fire with sticks the way my uncle had taught me in my youth, and though most of the materials we burned were still green, I figured the fire was probably steady enough to burn at least through the night. Kyle sat nearby the entire time I was doing all of this, and he didn't even offer to help, but I didn't mind. He looked slightly disturbed.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I was finishing up.

"Oh. Nothing," he said.

"Nothing always means something. What is it?"

"I'm, like, retroactively upset about being in the water, I think. I was kind of terrified of that part, but I pushed it to the back of my mind since it was necessary."

"What, you were worried that we'd miss the island or something?"

He laughed under his breath. "No, I'm afraid of the water, actually."

I stared at him, confused. "Why the hell would you decide to be a sailor if you're afraid of water?"

"I didn't used to be," he said, "Only since, um, the whole keel-hauling thing. I don't know, I wasn't thinking about it while we were trying to get away, but now I can't s_top_ thinking about it. We could have drowned."

"We didn't though."

"Stan, don't you have any phobias? It's not as simple as 'We didn't.'"

"I'm sorry," I said, sitting down next to him, "How can I help?"

He sat silently for a moment, staring at his feet. Then he looked at me, and I was amazed at the openness in his eyes.

"Would you just hold me?" he asked, "I just need to feel safe, I think."

"Of course," I said, wrapping my arms around him. I pulled him onto my lap, and together we watched the sun go down. I could feel him growing more relaxed against me, and for that I was glad.

"Home sweet home," he said quietly.

After a week I had become resigned to a life on the island. Though Kyle still seemed sure that someone was going to come rescue us, I wasn't convinced. We hadn't seen a single ship in that time, despite the fact that the dark black smoke from our perpetually burning camp fire would be visible for hundreds of miles. It was all fun and games at first. It was hard to be upset when the ocean air smelled so fresh, and the sun felt so good against my skin. But I felt unsettled anyway. The idea of surviving there long-term weighed heavily on my mind. I set about improving our little shelter, making it sturdier and more waterproof, and hoped that we wouldn't need it for much longer.

After a month, I began to settle into a routine. In the morning I would go check the fish traps I'd built, and haul in whatever catches I'd made. I couldn't really cook to save my life, but thankfully Kyle was a much better cook than me, so I'd leave the fish for him to clean with our only knife, and after that they'd either be cooked straightaway, or dried out for our emergency food supply. Dried fish is disgusting, by the way, but it got us through the days on which my traps yielded no return.

After checking the traps, I would walk out to the pond with the glass jug we found half-buried in the sand, fill it up, and bring it back home. Disgusting though the murky water was, it was essential to our survival, and we were both grateful to have it. We tried to filter out the mosquito larvae with a scrap of cloth I'd torn from my shirt, but it was still pretty foul. Still better than coconut milk though, as far as I was concerned.

After the morning chores were complete, we were free to do as we pleased. Sometimes we'd head into the jungle to see if we could find more interesting things to eat. I enjoyed creating paths through the trees for Kyle to walk though, because pushing through the dense understory wasn't his favorite thing to do, but I could tell he wanted to spend time with me.

Sometimes I'd go for a swim, with Kyle watching me from the beach. Slowly he grew more and more comfortable with being in the water, and eventually joined me, although he never ventured far from the shore. His fear of sharks seemed to diminish as well, but as soon as I warned him about stingrays he refused to get into the water again, even after I showed him how to do the stingray shuffle. I guess some people just aren't cut out for dealing with nature. He seemed content enough to watch me swim, though.

I have to admit that the majority of our spare time was spent fooling around with each other. Kyle usually kept his overlarge shirt on to protect his skin, but he seldom bothered with his canvas shorts anymore. I usually opted to walk around completely naked, since we were free from any prying eyes. Anyway, I like being naked. Kyle seemed to approve of my decision, and as the sun baked my skin to a nice bronze color, he seemed unable to keep his hands to himself. Not that I minded.

Two months passed by quickly, and I was beginning to grow anxious once more. Part of me didn't want things to ever change. There was something to be said for spending one's life loitering on a warm tropical beach, gorging on seafood and spending the afternoons enjoying the intimate company of another person.

But as time wore on and the summer storms began to increase, I started to worry about the possibility of a hurricane hitting the island. Our little shelter was fine for keeping us relatively dry during the afternoon thunderstorms, but a major storm would easily blow it away, and probably us with it.

To top it all off, Kyle's attitude was becoming troubling. He'd become more withdrawn, and had stopped eating as much as he normally did. He'd lost interest in everything, and spent most of his time sitting by the shelter, staring into the ocean.

"Are you alright?" I asked him one night, in the safety of our hut. Kyle was lying on his belly on the sand, looking particularly despondent.

"Not really, no," he answered, not even bothering to look at me.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm starting to wonder if this big rescue I orchestrated is ever going to happen."

"I've been wondering that myself," I said, sitting next to him. I reached over and started to rub Kyle's back. "But I'm pretty happy here for now, aren't you?"

"God, no."

I pulled my hand away and sat stock still, feeling as though I'd been struck. I wasn't just happy on the island because I was managing to keep us alive; I was happy because I liked being with Kyle so much, and not having to worry about hiding what we were doing. I'd come to cherish his company, and was starting to feel as though I wanted to spend the rest of my life close to the other man, in whatever form that might take.

Kyle looked back at me over his shoulder, and though I tried not to look as upset as I felt he saw right through me.

"Hey," he said, reaching for my hand, "I didn't mean because of you. I'm so happy that I get to spend this time with you, and we don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks. It's great. But I feel like I've failed something. If no one comes for us, that's my fault. And I'm so bored, Stan. I need to do things more mentally stimulating than slicing up dead fish, you know?"

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked, still feeling slightly wounded.

"Not unless you've been hiding an entire library from me this whole time."

"Shoot, I left that in my other trousers."

Kyle smiled and swatted at me. He turned over in the sand to lay against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around him, feeling slightly mollified.

"I just hope that we'll get out of here pretty soon. We'll be in trouble if a big storm heads our way," he said, echoing the thoughts that had been cycling through my head for weeks. "I don't want to drown in a storm surge, personally."

"Well this is an uplifting conversation," I said, not wanting to worry about it for once.

"Yeah, well, just something we need to consider."

I sighed as we settled in for another mosquito-filled night.

I awoke with the sun the next morning, and went out to the edge of the jungle to relieve myself. When I was finished I turned and walked blearily back toward the hut. I was stopped short in my tracks when I noticed two ships anchored offshore. One was the _Sloop John B _and the other was a larger ship whose name I couldn't see. There were men on the deck of each ship, and they looked as though they were going to come ashore any minute.

"Um," I said intelligently, and ran back into the hut to rouse Kyle and make myself decent.

"Jesus, Kyle, wake up. I think we're in trouble!" I said, shaking Kyle's shoulder.

"Whassaa?" Kyle mumbled, turning over toward me. I ignored the way his shirt had ridden up around his chest in his sleep.

"The _Sloop John B_ is offshore, as well as another ship," I explained, pulling my trousers on.

"Oh! Excellent!" Kyle exclaimed, suddenly looking awake. He pulled his canvas shorts toward him and began to put them on.

"Excellent?" I asked, "Uh, I don't know if you remember the Captain of that ship trying to kill us or anything, but that's not really what I'd call 'excellent'."

"If they've found us then he won't be a problem for us anymore, anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, confounded.

"You'll see," Kyle replied, dashing out of the shelter.


	4. Chapter 4

They weren't wrong when they said I was mad. But they were wrong when they said it had happened only after I had been locked in the brig for so long.

"Poor Christophe, a year locked down there would be enough to drive anyone insane!" Yeah yeah yeah sure, whatever.

The truth was I had always been a little mad, even as a child. I mean, sure, being locked up for long might have made me a little more…. unbalanced, but most of the damage had been done long before I ever set foot on the ship. But there was only one person left on the planet who had known me for that long, and that person was so far away that he wasn't there to set the record straight. And so the rumors abounded.

Not that there were many people around to see my madness. Hell, most people on the ship weren't even aware I was still there, hiding in the gloom. I didn't bother trying to make my presence known to them, the mutinous bastards.

Once a day that fat piece of shit Cartman would send Craig down to feed me, which he did while throwing scathing insults and threats my way. If Cartman's navigator Butters had messed something up and Cartman was feeling particularly vindictive toward him, he might send Butters down to feed me instead, as well as empty the disgusting bucket which was all I had for a waste receptacle. I preferred solitude over those two asshats.

And once in a while if everyone else was otherwise occupied, Cartman would send Kenny down to take care of things. Cartman's mistake was assuming that everyone found Kenny as creepy as he did. The story onboard was that he and Cartman had been pals as children, but over time Kenny's behavior became more and more bizarre, and most people were extremely uncomfortable in his presence. Cartman thought sending him down to me was a punishment for both of us, but the reality was that we actually enjoyed each other's company. Sure, ok, I'm a bit mad, but so was Kenny. I think I was the only person who would listen to Kenny's stories about his various encounters with death (though I didn't really believe him… who would?) and Kenny was the only person who would listen to my rants about what a bastard God was (mostly because he completely agreed, or so he said).

It was through Kenny that I learned of Kyle's treatment at the hands of Cartman and the rest of the crew. I had always had a soft spot for the guy, so I was livid that my navigator was being treated so poorly. It was very rare for me to like anyone on any level, so when one of the few people I might call a friend was being mocked and beaten and God knows what else on a daily basis, I wanted to kill anyone who'd dared put a hand on him. Kenny promised to keep an eye on things for me, but there was very little he could do without being caught. Time passed, and I sat and waited, and tried not to let the rats gnaw on me in my sleep. Good fucking times.

A year later it was again through Kenny that I learned about the new man aboard the ship who had been "given" Kyle as a gift. Kenny claimed that the guy seemed pretty nice, but I wasn't convinced. Anyone who would accept a gift of another human being was a piece of shit, as far as I was concerned. I worried about what the man might be doing to Kyle and I paced around my cell restlessly for days. I had this odd feeling that something was coming to a head. Things would change soon, and I hoped it would be for the better, because really things couldn't get much worse. Lock yourself in a room filled with your own feces for a year and see how much you like it, eh?

About a week after Stan had come to the ship, I was surprised to hear two people sneaking below deck in the middle of the night. I could hear their hesitant footsteps on the stairs, which I thought was pretty stupid. There were many people who had business to attend to in my grimy neck of the woods, and the trick to not getting caught, generally speaking, was to act as though you had every right to be there, rather than guiltily sneaking around like some half-assed cat burglar.

Someone held a lantern up to his window and called out my name. It sounded like Kenny, but I was too blinded by the light to see.

"Yeah, I'm here. Did you think I dug myself out or something?" I said testily.

"Well, anything's possible, I suppose," Kenny answered, "I've brought someone to see you."

I was pleasantly surprised to see Kyle's face at the window.

"Jesus, I thought Kenny was lying," he said looking teary-eyed, "Cartman told me you were dead,"

"Well, here I am, not dead. What are you doing down here?"

"Kenny said you were here, but I didn't believe him. I needed to see you for myself."

"We have a plan," Kenny said, "We're going to try and fix this whole mess. But we need your help."

They gave me a rundown of what was going on, from Stan and Kyle's situation, to the fact that a year after the mutiny many of the men on the crew were getting pretty sick of Cartman's rule.

"The profits he promised everyone haven't been distributed properly. Normally on a pirate ship everyone should get a certain percentage of the booty, but he's hoarded almost all of it. That plus the fact that he treats nearly everyone like shit has gotten everyone riled up to the point of rebellion. Even Butters is sick of it, and he's put up with more of Cartman's bullshit than anyone. All the crew needs is a little push," Kenny said. I was delighted to hear that that fat piece of shit was doing so poorly, but.

"What the hell do you think I can do, though? I'm locked in here, if you didn't notice," I said.

"Don't worry, we'll get to that," said Kenny.

That evening we carefully laid out our plans, down to the last detail. I'd tell you about them but hey, why ruin the surprise, right?

"I hope you realize that if this doesn't work, Stan and I will certainly die," said Kyle before he headed back to the deck.

"Kyle, if this doesn't work then we will all die," I said, "So don't assume you're the only one with anything on the line here."

He nodded. "See you tomorrow then."

And then he flounced out of the room as he tends to do. No wonder people picked on him.

To be perfectly honest, I didn't think much of Stan when he met him. His cursing was elementary at best, and he seemed too nice to be aboard a pirate ship. When I introduced myself he seemed scared and unsure of himself, but then most people were scared when they met me so maybe that was normal. I don't know.

But somehow Kyle had fallen for this man, and his survival was part of the plan. Ok. So when Cartman and his cronies came to drag Stan and Kyle to the deck, that was my cue to begin my part of the plan. Oh, and don't ask me why Kyle was pretending not to know I was down there in the cell. I think he just liked being overdramatic, fucking weirdo.

Anyway, weak though I was from spending a year locked in a tiny room with too little to eat, I still had enough brawn to fight off nearly anyone who got in my way. It helped when the person who was in my way was someone I hated as much as I hated Cartman. I'd been waiting a whole year to give him what he deserved, and I cracked my knuckles in anticipation.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cartman asked nervously as I approached him. He looked like he was about to piss his pants. Wonderful.

"What do you think I'm doing, idiot? I'm going to beat the shit out of you."

He screamed for help, but no one came to his aid. They were probably too absorbed in what was happening to Kyle and Stan on deck. I grabbed the lantern he'd brought down with him and smashed it over his head. The lamp went out, since it was broken and all, but the fuel went everywhere, and lit Cartman's shirt on fire. He screamed, but I had no mercy. I pummeled him until he passed out, and then carefully put out the flames, not wanting my ship to burn down before I could reclaim it.

I wanted to kill the man, but that wasn't part of Kyle's sacred plan, so I simply locked him into the room that had been my prison for the last year and left him there. Problem solved.

I ran up the stairs to the deck and was immediately blinded by the sun. I could hear noise all around me, so I could at least tell where other people were, but as my eyes began to adjust the noises died down.

"Jesus fuck," I mumbled, stumbling around until I was in a shaded area. It still hurt to open my eyes, but at least I could see a little. And what I saw was confusing. Or confusion, aimed at me. Whatever.

The entire crew appeared to be on deck, and they had apparently been squawking at each other like pissed off hens. Cot cot cot, get away from my nest you swarthy barnacle sucker. I didn't know what the fuck they had been up to, and frankly I didn't give a shit. Their pistols and cutlasses were poised for battle, but they all stood frozen in place, staring at me in shock. Excellent.

"It's a ghost!" Butters yelled, right on cue. The crew, rather predictably, panicked. Stupid fuckers.

Kenny and Ike helped to rile up those who were against Cartman's Captainship, and they went on the warpath against the few idiots who still supported him. An hour later and a few small scuffles and I was back in charge of my ship, with our enemies properly punished.

Though most of the crew seemed to be confused as to exact circumstances of my revival (most of the crew seemed to believe that I was actually a ghost, but Kenny was going around spreading the rather amusing rumor that he'd revived me with voodoo and was controlling me with his mind, and that theory was quickly gaining popularity), none of it really mattered to me. Cartman was locked in the bilge, beaten and burned, Craig had been keel-hauled and tied to the mast as a punishment, and Clyde… well, Clyde was supposed to have been keel-hauled as well, but he had started blubbering the second they tied his wrists. Disgusted by his display, I sent him to the Captain's quarters to clean them out, so that I might make use of them without getting Cartman's filth all over my body. I was already filthy enough. I would have punished Butters for usurping Kyle's position of navigator, but he was helping us out, so I guessed I could let it pass. I did still throw a few idle threats his way, though, just to keep him on his toes.

So, my beloved ship returned to me and everyone was back to where they belonged. The plan was working out wonderfully so far. But this was where I threw the plan out the window. We were supposed to find Stan and Kyle where they were marooned, but I would have none of that. Nothing mattered more to me than finding the _Justice. _If Kyle and Stan had made it to the island they'd aimed for then they'd be ok for a little while longer. I had waited for a year in my own personal hell, so I figured Kyle and Stan could wait a few weeks on a sunny tropical island, pas de probleme.

Only Ike had tried to argue with me about our destination, and once he'd seen the look on my face, he'd backed down. Like I said, being locked up for so long had done unsavory things to my mind. I guess I looked pretty deranged. Maybe I was pretty deranged.

"What is it we're looking for, anyway?" he asked me.

"The _Justice_. It's a ship."

"And what's so important about this ship?"

"The Captain is a friend of mine."

"A friend? We're aimlessly searching the ocean for one ship because you want to see your friend?"

"It's not aimless. He's always loitering in the same general area," I said, sitting at a table and pulling the map toward me. I pointed to an area off the coast of Florida, close to Cuba. "Somewhere over here, usually. See, he thinks he's going to single-handedly stop the slave trade."

"That seems… ambitious," Ike said.

"Yeah. He's an idiot. But, so, he parks his ship out here, a few hundred miles off the coast, and when the slave traders leave port he ambushes them, stealing their goods and then sinking their ships."

"If he wants to stop the slave trade, why doesn't he ambush the ships before they reach Cuba?"

"And what would he do with the slaves, hm? He can't just turn them loose somewhere, and he wouldn't have the time or money to take them all back to Africa. He attacks the ships in the hopes that the slavers will take a hint and just stop trying, but he also has to make a profit somehow. He likes to act as though he's high and mighty and doing a noble deed, but at the end of the day he's still a pirate."

"Sounds like he's pretty self-righteous," Ike said.

"You have no idea."

Though I'd said the search wouldn't be aimless, my main method of deciding where to go was really just pointing at a spot on the map and insisting to go there. I'd promised Kenny and Ike (who were the only people who actually knew what I was up to) that it would take two, three weeks tops to find the _Justice_, and by the end of the first month they were quickly becoming irritated. The other crew members were still convinced that I was actually a ghost, and that I was taking them on a suicide mission as revenge for mutinying against me. I was fine with that. But the truth was that I knew exactly what I wanted, but had no idea where the hell it might be. Or he. Where _he_ might be.

"Did you forget how big the ocean was?" Kenny asked one day.

"Shut up."

"Well, floating around the sea with no real destination is fun and all, but we're quickly running out of food and water. So if you don't want us all to starve before we can find your _friend_, you might want to do something about that."

"Ugh, fine," I said, "Let's find a ship to pillage then."

"Cool, which one do you want to go after?" he asked, shading his eyes and looking at the empty ocean on either side of the ship, "That one over there? Or that one over there? There are so many to choose from!"

"Jesus Christ, shut _up_," I shouted, "If you think you're so good at this then you fucking decide where to go!"

"Gladly," he said, and began to plot our course.

He was surprisingly knowledgeable about the navigation courses a slave ship might take, which seemed odd to me. Sure, I liked him well enough, but I've never thought he was a particularly intelligent man. He was very quickly proving me wrong with the course he set.

"We'll start out at these islands," he said, pointing at the map, "and then sweep northward. If we don't find a ship on the first sweep we'll go south again, and so on until we run into someone. Good?"

He looked at me with a smug smile on his face. It was very good, actually. Better than my scattershot approach. I wasn't about to tell him that, though. He could go fuck himself.

"Whatever," I said.

We were only three days into his plan when we ran into another ship. God clearly likes making me look like an idiot. Asshole.

The ship was exactly what we were looking for. We attacked without hesitation, damaging the ship beyond repair, and setting the mast on fire in our attack. Hasty to steal our loot before the whole ship burned down, we boarded with muskets and cutlasses in hand, and though the Captain claimed they were simply a merchant vessel, an investigation of the hold showed exactly what kind of merchandise they had been carrying. Shackles were hardly needed in the transport of dry goods, after all. My ship was now laden with large drums of sugar; we had taken as many as we could carry, as well as their entire supply of food and all their water and alcohol. It was a good haul, and we were all pretty pleased as we returned to our own ship. What we hadn't noticed was a third ship approaching, drawn in by the smoke while we were below deck, pillaging.

…Well, I suppose Butters had noticed it, and had been trying to get our attention while we were busy, but who the hell pays attention to Butters? Not me, that's for sure.

So we were all shocked to see another ship docked on the other side of the _Sloop John B, _and a handful of unfamiliar men loitering about the deck. Well, most were unfamiliar. There was one man with whom I was rather intimately acquainted.

"My God, Christophe, is that really you?" Gregory called from the deck. He looked exactly how I remembered: decked out in finery from his well-polished boots to his ridiculous feathered hat. What a fucking showboat. Still, I was glad to see him.

"You look like shit!" he called. Nevermind.

We returned to my ship, and I pretended I wasn't affected by seeing my _friend_ for the first time in a long while. I mean, Gregory is a proper British lady, so he'd have been offended if I tried anything in front of the others, anyway.

Gregory being Gregory, I wasn't surprised to see a black man among his crew members. He's into diversity and all that shit.

Gregory introduced us, puffed up with pride for being such a revolutionary, forward-thinking individual. _Token_, he said, which I thought was a weird name, but whatever. Apparently the man was capable enough to be the ship's Quartermaster. Hey, thumbs up, good for you, et cetera.

Though Gregory was practically shitting himself in his excitement when introducing Token to us (yes, Gregory, you're so amazing, now pull your head out of your ass), Token was overlooked by my entire crew, because their attentions were elsewhere. It's rare to see a woman upon a pirate ship, but Wendy had been a part of Gregory's Quest For Equality since the very beginning. We both had known her since we were kids, and frankly I think Gregory has always had a bit of a crush on her. Too bad he wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she fell naked into his lap. She did look damn fine in her breeches and perfectly tailored jacket, though.

Wendy, it seemed, had been instructing my men to load the canons. Pretty and efficient. Very nice. And so we gave the old heave-ho, and blew what was left of those slave-peddling motherfuckers out of the water, with both our crews taking pot shots at the men in the water who tried to come our way, thinking we'd rescue them. Gregory might feel he has some kind of moral duty to rid the world of these men, but for me it was just a good time. It stirred my blood, and I turned to Gregory, hoping we might go somewhere private to celebrate. But when I saw the look on his face I knew he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I was still filthy, see, and he's such a God damn neat freak. But he did want to go somewhere private. To _talk_. Shit.

He took me into his cabin, which was much nicer than mine, of course. The _Justice_ was a larger ship than the _Sloop John B._, so the Captain's quarters were naturally larger as well, but there was also the fact that Gregory decorated like a god damn princess. His bed was larger and nicer than any of the ones I'd ever had in my landlocked days, and it was covered in what seemed like a hundred plump pillows, all encased in expensive silk pillowcases. He even had a god damn fainting sofa for fuck's sake, upholstered in fucking velvet. And a potted plant next to the windows. Who the fuck has a potted plant on a pirate ship? Not me, that's for sure. I wondered why his crew wasn't constantly trying to overthrow him just so someone else could get a crack at his fancy accommodations.

Anyway, so yeah, we went to his cabin, and there we _talked_. God damn it.

He'd wondered where I'd been: We'd had a plan worked out before the mutiny where we'd meet in a port town in the Keys every other month, and obviously I hadn't shown for a year. He thought I was done with the whatever it was we had together. Nothing had been further from the truth, of course. I'd thought of him the entire time I'd been locked up, and I told him so. Shut up.

"You really do look dreadful, though," he said, eying my tattered clothes, "Couldn't you at least have changed into more presentable clothing?"

I shrugged. "There wasn't much on the ship. I think Cartman enjoyed seeing everyone else in rags while he paraded around in his fancy clothes, so there was nothing to spare that wasn't just as bad as what I'm wearing."

"You smell wretched, though," he said, holding one of his delicate hands against his nose, "Why don't we dock in Key West and get you a bath and some fresh clothes, hmm? Because I certainly won't touch you until you're a little cleaner."

I laughed, exasperated, but it was nice to know that some things never changed.

We did as he'd planned, docking in Key West and selling off our looted sugar, as well as some things Gregory had pillaged before he ran into us. We used the money to replenish the supplies of both our ships, and then I split my leftover profits with the rest of the crew, though there wasn't much to split. Most of my share was used trying to appease His Royal Prissiness. I (only somewhat willingly) let him take me to a tailor, and ordered serviceable clothes that were nowhere near as opulent as Gregory's peacocky ensemble, but would be a vast improvement over my outfit which had a year's worth of filth embedded in its fibers.

When we were through at the tailor's I allowed him to take me to a small house owned by a friend of his who was frequently out at sea. Thankfully the house was empty. As soon as we had settled in Gregory pulled water from the well to fill the small metal tub, and forced me into it, though the water was still cold. He compensated for this by scrubbing my back for me.

"I did miss you, you know," he said, leaning up against my back once he had deemed it clean enough to touch. His breath was warm against my ear.

"I don't believe you," I said, teasingly.

"Oh no? Well, I suppose I'll have to prove it to you," he said, dragging his nails across my chest.

He did so thoroughly and with great enthusiasm.

The week we spent in Key West was better than I can put into words. After a year of torture, being in a sunny, warm paradise with the man I… um… for whom I have affection was like a balm to my mind and soul. We couldn't leave earlier than that bec

because the clothes we ordered were not yet finished. As such I spent the entire week either naked or simply wrapped in a sheet, because Gregory refused to let me put my filthy clothes on again. In fact, he tossed them into the fire in the hearth when I attempted to do so. I didn't object too much because he kept me well fed and well fucked the entire week. What did I care about getting dressed?

Still, I began to feel guilty about seeking my own pleasure when Kyle might be dying on some deserted island. The longer I basked in my own happiness, the worse I felt. I began to envision all kinds of awful things that might befall him, from starving to death, to being torn apart by wild dogs.

…Of course, wild dogs weren't too common on the scattered islands of the Caribbean, but you never know.

So as soon as my clothes were finished, I began to round up what was left of my crew, flushing them out of their various dens of sin. Gregory objected, apparently not satisfied with a full week of laziness, but I had an objective, and I wouldn't be deterred.

The vast majority of the crew was nowhere to be found. I can't say I was surprised. Who wants to serve under a Captain that you've mutinied against? Especially one that was a ghost zombie something or other. So I found a few good men to fill the gaps in my team, and we set off for Cuba, with the _Justice_ following in our wake.

It took us another two weeks to get to the island where Kyle and Stan had been marooned. Kyle had carefully marked the island he had aimed for when they were tossed overboard on the map. Butters was still a horrifyingly bad navigator, but Kenny was proving to be more capable than I'd ever expected, and between the two of them we made our way without too many major problems. I mean, we ran into a fucking _hurricane_, but hey, shit happens. I think they're pretty fun, though I guess that's probably Exhibit A. in the Case Against Christophe's Sanity. But I haven't met a storm that could kill me yet. Obviously. Victory is mine.

And of course we stopped along the way to sink a few ships, because even though we had a destination in mind, Gregory took every opportunity to dole out what he believed was God's vengeance. Or something. I'd had enough of God's vengeance, personally. The profits were nice, though.

When we reached the island I half expected to find two skeletons cuddled up together… or maybe picked apart by seabirds and scattered along the shore. But no, they had a cute little hut set up, and we all gawked as Stan wandered around stark naked before he noticed us. Good show, Stan. Thanks for showing us all your cock.

So we got into our little boats, and went ashore, and rescued those stranded bastards. Yay for us. Or as Gregory would say, "Good show old chap. Stiff upper lip, and all that. Quite. Let's have tea!" or some British shit like that.

So that's about it for my part of the story. I'd bore you with the part where Gregory and I sailed off into the sunset and continued to pillage and plunder and blow ships out of the water together (pretty romantic if you ask me, but Gregory probably disagrees… I'm sure he still expects me to carry him off in my arms and make love to him on a bed of rose petals or some stupid bullshit) and had lots of delightfully sinful sex, and lived happily ever after, et cetera, et cetera. But you didn't really come here for that, did you? I'll let Stan take it from here.


	5. Chapter 5

Though Kyle tried to reassure me that everything was ok, I watched the men come ashore with trepidation. What if it was some kind of trick? But when I suggested that to him he rolled his eyes and began to rant about his plan coming to fruition, etc.

I guess he was right, though. Christophe trudged through the surf looking much cleaner and healthier than he'd been when I last saw him, and Ike came running after him, bounding toward Kyle and practically knocking him over with a hug. I suppose I could be excused for not realizing they were brothers, since they looked nothing alike.

An uppity-looking blonde man accompanied them, and he smiled haughtily as he introduced himself as Gregory. I'm not sure if I was supposed to be impressed, but I think he was impressed enough with himself for the both of us.

Kyle and I stood idly by as he and Christophe examined our little home.

"Shall we tear it down, darling?" Gregory asked Christophe. Darling, huh?

I kind of objected to them destroying the crappy little hut I'd built, but mostly I was just confused. What was the point? I watched as they ripped it apart, and destroyed my fish traps as well. Two months' work, down the drain. I supposed it didn't matter at that point, though.

Their purpose became clear to me when I noticed a person I'd overlooked in the boat they'd brought onshore. Cartman was hogtied on the bottom of it, struggling against his bonds. He looked like shit.

"Well, this is where we say goodbye," Christophe said, hauling him out and onto the sand. Kyle whooped with glee as he noticed what was about to happen, and the glare he earned from Cartman would have been impressive if the circumstances had been different.

"So, welcome to your new home," Christophe said shoving him into the sand, "I'd leave you in the brig to rot like you did to me, but I think this is more fun. Maybe you'll get lucky and survive. Maybe not. I don't give a shit."

Cartman's protests were muffled by the gag in his mouth, and as Ike ushered Kyle and I toward the boat, I wondered if anyone was going to bother to untie him before marooning him.

Apparently not.

I felt kind of bad leaving him there like that, because apparently that's the kind of person I am, but everyone else was smiling and waving goodbye to him. Kyle even blew him a kiss.

We soon found ourselves on the deck of the _Justice_ which I wasn't entirely happy about… I mean, yeah, we could have starved on that island, or been bit by poisonous snakes, or stung by jellyfish or… well, anything really, but it was clean and warm, and it was _ours_. I had forgotten how bad ships smell most of the time, and how crowded it feels with so many people all stuck together in the same place. I'd wanted so badly to be rescued, and now that I was I wasn't sure I liked it.

Kyle was nervous about going aboard the _Sloop John B._ again ("Phobias, Stan, I can't just shut it off!") so Gregory he gave us another closet-sized room on his ship, which was admittedly much nicer than the one we'd had on the _Sloop John B._ This one had a window. Wow.

We stood on the deck holding hands as we watched our little island disappear over the horizon. Until we got too far away, we could still see Cartman all trussed up on the beach struggling to get free, but other than that it looked as pristine as ever. I was sad, but I knew Kyle was happy about the prospect of eating something other than fish, at least.

The _Justice _and _Sloop John B._ set off together in tandem, charting a northerly course, and stopping here and there to run various errands. I was told not to worry about their responsibilities, so I didn't.

I did offer to help out on the ship, but was turned down once again, so Kyle and I were once again free to do as we pleased. After having been alone on our island for so long, we opted to stay in our cabin most of the time, enjoying each other's company. And it was fun, but I started to worry about damn near everything. I guess when my only concern was survival, I'd put all those other concerns on the shelf, and now that we had to adjust to the real world again, everything seemed much more complicated than it had before.

I'd had a problem with drinking when I was younger, and now, faced with more problems, I took solace in it again. And that only made me feel worse. There were a few days when I didn't leave our room, laying like a lump on our bed, trying not to think. It didn't take long for Kyle to sense something was wrong, but he'd have to be blind to miss it. I brushed him off the first few times he asked, claiming I was just tired, but he wouldn't drop it.

"What's going on with you?" he asked one night. He was pressed against my side, warm and naked, and I didn't really want to ruin the moment, but I knew he'd get mad if I refused to talk about it again. He wasn't really known for his patience.

"I don't know," I lied, "I guess I miss the island. And I'm… worried."

"About what?" he asked, tracing shapes on my chest.

"Um. Us."

"…Why?" I could see the apprehension in his eyes.

"I guess I'm afraid of things changing between us now that we're headed back to civilization. Do you still want me? Will we be able to be together without people coming after us? What should we do for jobs? For a home? I worry about all these things. I just- I want to be with you. That's what matters. And I'm trying to figure out how to make that work, or if that's even what you want, too."

I realized I was being stupid when I saw the look on his face. He leaned over me and pressed a kiss to my lips.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he asked, and I felt my eyes water.

"Do you?"

"Of course I do, stupid," he said.

"Oh," I said laughing against his lips, "Well, yeah. I love you too. Obviously. But, I mean… what about the rest?"

He shrugged. "The rest will work itself out somehow."

And, well, he was right.

After our various stops along the islands leading north, Christophe and Gregory dropped us off in Key West, where we were allowed to stay in someone's borrowed house "for as long as we liked". I think Christophe's departure was more difficult for Kyle than he let on, especially because his brother Ike opted to stay on board the ship. I'd never been close to my sister, so in some weird way I was sort of jealous of how upset the two of them were saying goodbye to each other. I hoped some day they'd somehow find each other again, but there was no way of knowing if that would happen. But they both wanted different things out of life, so that was the way it had to be. Ike said he'd probably stop in New York once in a while to visit their parents, so there was that, at least. Still, Kyle was upset, which in turn upset me further.

So there we were, both sad and worried, with no solace but each other's company. I promised him I wouldn't drink again, if he'd confide in me when he felt he needed to. It worked out better than I'd expected, actually. We kept each other honest.

After a few weeks we both began to feel better, and then Kyle completely surprised me by saying he wanted to go home. By which he meant New York. That was pretty much the last place I'd have expected him to want to go, but he said he had a plan. I was getting pretty sick of Kyle's secret plans, but I went along with it anyway. I mean, it wasn't like I had anything better to do. We had some money Christophe had left us that would cover the trip, and so we boarded a ship to New York.

As nervous as I was, I was excited too. The farthest north I'd ever been was St. Augustine, so going to New York was akin to visiting an alien planet.

Things I hadn't been prepared for: The cold, and the stench. The cold I could handle, though it was something I was unused to. As I said before, I like being naked, so having to wear such thick clothing all the time was uncomfortable to me.

The stench, however… It hadn't really occurred to me that such a "great" city would have piles and piles of horse shit everywhere. And yet, despite that, everyone was dressed in what I'd consider fancy clothing. The ladies' long skirts were brown on the bottoms, and so were many of the mens' trousers. It didn't make a damn bit of sense to me. Kyle had insisted we buy proper clothes before visiting his parents, and I thought it was a shame that the finest suit I'd ever worn was going to be ruined by the muck pretty damn quickly. Still, it made him happy to see me look "like a gentleman", even though I felt kind of ridiculous. But once we got to his parents' house, I was glad he'd dolled me up.

He'd claimed it was just a modest home, nothing fancy. When we entered the huge townhome, I wasn't sure if he'd lied or if that's how it really seemed to him. It made the house I grew up in look like a god damn shack. ….Which it sort of was, but that isn't the point.

They had a butler. AND a maid! I began to worry about how I might provide for the two of us if this was what Kyle considered modest. We were ushered in and sent to the parlor, where I sat nervously on a velveteen chair, and Kyle examined his father's bookcases.

"Hmm, he's got a lot of new books," he said, apropos of nothing.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable in such a nice setting. He seemed perfectly at home among the crystal chandeliers and finely carved furniture… which I guess he was.

"Maybe I just want you to meet my parents," he said, still browsing through the bookcase.

"What, so I can ask for your hand in marriage like a proper gentleman?"

He turned and smiled at me, and then sat in the chair next to me.

"Don't worry about it," he said. I was left in the dark once more.

His parents soon joined us, sitting across from us and offering us tea. I was afraid I'd break the china cup and saucer. They were both eying me curiously, but no one said anything outside of the normal pleasantries until we were finished with our tea. Finally Kyle spoke up. Apparently he had a business proposition. And apparently I was his "business partner".

"You have connections at the _Daily Tribune_ don't you?" he asked his father. He wasn't at all what I was expecting, although all I really knew about him was he was a lawyer… who wanted to be a dolphin.

"I do, why?" he asked, still eying me. I wondered how much he knew about Kyle's… interests.

"I want to be a journalist. More specifically, I'd like to travel the world, and send back reports to be published. Stan here is a good writer, and you know I am as well, and I think together we could make a living from it. But we need an in at a respectable publication. By which I mean one that will pay us enough to actually do it."

"You just got home, and you're already thinking of going back to sea?" his mother asked from the sofa upon which she sat. She was a plump, but severe-looking woman. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a bit afraid of her.

"It's what I want to do, Ma. I like traveling; I just don't want to w_ork_ on a ship anymore. And there's so much of the world I'd like to explore. Don't you think it's a good idea?"

She made an indignant sound. "A good idea would be settling down. You should find a nice Jewish woman to marry and have some children. That's what I think."

Kyle laughed. "I'm not really the marrying type, you know."

She sighed heavily. "Well what about your brother?"

"I don't want to marry him," Kyle said.

"You know what your mother means, young man," his father cut in. I was beginning to see why he left in the first place.

"What? He's still working on a ship somewhere in the Caribbean. He's with a friend of mine. He's fine."

His father shook his head, and then looked at his mother. The sense of their disapproval felt oppressive.

"We tried to raise you boys to do the right thing, and then you both run away from any kind of responsibility. What did we do wrong? Were we not good enough for you boys?"

"Oh, here we go. The dreaded guilt trip," Kyle said.

"Kyle!" his mother squawked.

"We only want what's best for you and your brother," his father said calmly.

"Why don't you let us decide what that is?" Kyle said, clearly getting upset, "Getting married and having a 'proper' career might be what you consider best, but I wouldn't be happy doing that. Isn't that what matters more? Would you rather me have a respectable job and a wife and kids and be completely miserable, or have a life that people might consider unconventional, but makes me happy?"

"I don't know, Kyle," his mother said.

"Listen," he appealed, "If we work for the newspaper I'll have to come back to New York periodically to hand in my reports, right? If I have a reason to come back here, you guys will get to see me when I do, and you can harass me to your heart's content about my lifestyle choices. If I don't have a reason to come back, well… I suppose I can just go back to sea and work on a pirate ship again. I'm trying to do the right thing, but I want to be happy. Don't you want me to be happy?"

His parents gave each other a look, and then dismissed us, apparently wanting to discuss it between the two of them. I was unsure of myself, but Kyle seemed pretty confident.

"They'll definitely help us out," he said, leading me to his room. I wasn't allowed to sleep in there while we were visiting, but apparently he figured spending time in there during the day would go unnoticed.

"What makes you think so?" I asked, sitting on his plush bed. The bedspread was smooth and soft under my hands. I wondered how he'd ever survived on a ship if this was what he was used to.

"Oh two can play at the guilt trip. My mom's a master, but I'm good at it, too. 'Don't you want me to be happy?!' That always works."

I laughed, and pulled him onto my lap. "So that was all just a ruse?"

"Not at all," he said, framing my face with his hands, "I meant what I said. It's just _how_ you say it that makes a difference."

"I'm pretty impressed with your manipulation skills."

He pushed me onto my back. "You should be."

Turns out he was right. After a day or two of mulling it over (and giving Kyle and I suspicious looks the whole time) his father pulled us into his parlor one evening and introduced us to his friend from the newspaper. It was all downhill from there. Kyle turned on the charm, and convinced this man to give us the position of Corresponding Adventurers, or something like that. Contracts made and signed, and we had our futures all set up, just the way Kyle intended.

So we set out for our new life together, seeing the world and occasionally stopping "home" to say hello. We saw so many places I'd never even heard of, from the deserts of Africa to the icy wilderness of the arctic tundra. Along the way we met new people, experiencing new cultures and trying new foods. I guess our readers enjoyed our tales well enough, because every time we'd head back to New York our editors would immediately send us out again on a new assignment. It was fun being able to see the world in ways that most people never got to experience, and of course having Kyle with me the whole time made it even better. So yeah, I guess our adventuring days never really ended.

Eventually we made enough money to build a tiny little house on an island in the tropics where we could stay between assignments, away from prying eyes. And, well, we were happy.

I could go into some philosophical rant about how you never know what life will bring you, and how the worst situations can turn into something amazing, or something about destiny, or something, but frankly I don't believe in that kind of thing anymore. I just got lucky. Really lucky.

Sometimes I have these nightmares about being back on the _Sloop John B._ Sometimes Kyle is tortured to death in front of me. Sometimes the sharks really are waiting under the ship to get us as we're pushed overboard. And sometimes we're on our island, drowning in the storm surge as a hurricane blows in. But when I wake up, Kyle is still by my side, and I remember that I'm safe, and I'm with the person that I love.


End file.
